


Without Mythologies

by oflights



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, Established Relationship, Hall Pass, Implied Relationships, Jealousy, M/M, Reverse Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oflights/pseuds/oflights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sidney gives Geno a hall pass for Sochi, not wanting to ruin his Olympic fun. Geno doesn't do what he's supposed to do with it, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Mythologies

**Author's Note:**

> Yay it's posting day!! *throws confetti*
> 
> This fic is based on the wonderful, beautiful artwork created by smoke_and_oakum, which you can see [here](http://smoke-and-oakum.tumblr.com/post/80803695183/oflights-and-i-teamed-up-for-hockey-reverse-big)! Please go shower praise and adulation over her, thank you.
> 
> Some notes on this: there are a bunch of implied/semi-explicit relationships in here, most notably PK Subban/John Tavares. There are also mentions of **past** Sid/other Team Canada members and **past** Jonathan Toews/other Team Canada members (though none of that actually happens in the fic, promise), plus implied Alex Pietrangelo/unnamed Team USA members. Mentions too small to tag for but they're there, so be warned!
> 
> I started this a while back, and that wonderful NHL Revealed episode featuring Geno's glorious butt and eating eggs with a fork from his nonstick pan messed up the entire timeline of the beginning of this fic, but shh, just go with it because Plot and more importantly, Porn.
> 
> Thank you so much to the mods for organizing this challenge! It's the reason I met my wonderful artist, Heather, and I'm so so lucky for that. Also, thank you to Bridget for the beta! The title is from The Weakerthans.

There is barely any time at all between the moment when the hotel door shuts behind Geno and when Sidney pushes him up against it. Geno chuckles, puffs of warm breath into Sidney’s hair, and Sidney leans up and swallows the last of the sound against his lips, kissing Geno hungrily and greedily.

“Eager,” Geno mumbles in between kisses. He chuckles again, breathy, and Sidney tastes just that little bit of the hotel bar they’d ended up in. He hears it in Geno’s laughter, the way his fingers are firm but clumsy as they move down Sidney’s body to curl around his hips. “Eager beaver,” Geno says, a dorky practice adage that Dan uses all the time, and he collapses into snorts of laughter that make Sidney draw back and try to pout at him.

It’s difficult to keep the pout going, really. Sidney feels the hotel bar thrumming in his own veins, making his blood race hot under his skin. He feels itchy with the need to touch Geno as much as possible, to be touched all over. He doesn’t want to call it desperation but in contrast with Geno’s relaxed, casual attitude, that might be what it is.

Geno’s acting like they have all the time in the world, like they’re not in a hotel in Newark because tomorrow they’ll be getting on a plane to Sochi. He’s acting as if they won’t separate tomorrow, splinter off into different teams for two weeks in which they’d already agreed to stay away from each other. Sidney wants to remind him, wants to take his face in his hands and meet his eyes and have that talk again, but it had been hard enough the first time. He doesn’t ever want to make Geno look that sad again, resigned and unhappy about it. And he already has another talk sitting heavily in the pit of his stomach, waiting for after tonight, with the potential to ease that look of sadness for Geno.

He does take Geno’s face in his hands, cupping his palms over Geno’s warm cheeks and sighing when Geno nuzzles into one. “Geno,” Sidney says softly, and Geno presses a kiss to the inside of Sidney’s palm and smiles down at him.

“Eager beaver for Canada,” Geno says. There’s still laughter in his voice but now it’s teasing instead of giggly, darker when it had been bubbly. He presses a firmer kiss to Sidney’s palm and then draws him in close with those hands on his hips, leaning down so Sidney’s hands slide from his face and hook around his neck. “My eager beaver tonight.”

Sidney huffs before he can stop himself, screwing up the indignation piling in his gut because it’s easier to deal with than the squirmy embarrassment, the shameful pleasure of the possessive pet name. “You’re nuts,” Sidney tells Geno very seriously. “Completely—”

Geno cuts him off with a kiss, attacking Sidney’s mouth as though he’s the desperate one now. His tongue thrusts past Sidney’s parted lips and Sidney gasps around it, pushing his weight into Geno until the door is holding them both up and one of his legs has wound up around Geno’s knee.

They kiss like that for a while, messy enough that Sidney can be dimly aware of the slick sounds of their mouths. He keeps pushing, though there’s no farther for him to go, and grabbing, grappling for Geno’s solid shoulders to anchor himself. 

He next becomes aware of the fact that he’s pushing his hips into Geno’s, and that’s making their cocks stir, hardening against each other through layers of the nice slacks they’d worn to dinner. Geno groans lowly against Sidney’s mouth, shifting to pant lightly against his cheek and then press wet, sloppy kisses there. Sidney lets him, shaky and stirred-up, his pants suddenly too tight at the crotch and the room tilting a bit from alcohol and Geno.

Sidney stumbles when Geno pushes off the door, gripping Geno’s shoulders tightly. Geno’s huge hands move up from his hips to spread across his back, walking him carefully back towards the bed and lowering him onto it. “This what you want, yes?” Geno asks, slipping his hands away to trail them all over Sidney’s front, to arrange him into a spread position that would expose him completely and deliciously if he were naked.

Geno freezes when Sidney shakes his head, narrowing his eyes and biting his bottom lip. Sidney leans all the way up to kiss his forehead, trail his lips down to his ear, and says, “No, I want you to be naked.”

“Brat,” Geno says fondly, smacking a loud kiss to Sidney’s lips and then shoving him all the way onto his back again, lying down and smiling up at Geno. “Worst.” 

His hand is already going for his fly, kicking his shoes off, even as Sidney puts his hands behind his head and says, “Please?” Geno mutters something petulant-sounding under his breath, in Russian, unzips and unbuckles his belt before shimmying out of his pants and toeing them off with his socks. Sidney watches, greedily taking in Geno’s long, slender thighs and the tented bulge at the front of his boxer-briefs, licking his lips in anticipation.

“You like me naked,” Geno says as he shrugs out of his jacket, letting it crumple to the floor in a way that would make Sidney’s hands twitch in a different circumstance. He starts on the buttons of his dress shirt and Sidney nods encouragingly, maybe eagerly, fuck. Geno’s smile turns into a smirk, and his fingers go slow enough to make Sidney’s cock ache. He thinks about rubbing himself through his pants, sees Geno’s eyes zeroed in on his crotch, and thinks better of it, clenching his hands behind his head. 

Geno stands in just his briefs for a few moments, toying with the waistband while Sidney tries not to lose patience, feeling pinned on the bed even though he’s the one staring, captivated. He wants to surge up, wants to lick and suck at Geno’s hardening nipples, shove his face into Geno’s crotch and breathe the smell of his arousal in deeply, and he is just getting ready to vocalize that when Geno is the one to move, climbing onto the bed and crawling over him. 

Having him this close is almost as good. Geno wraps his hands around Sidney’s wrists, tugging them out from behind his head and just pinning them on either side now. He stares down at Sidney like he’s trying to decide something, and Sidney just tries to smell him, his going out cologne and the starch from his pressed suit and beneath that, Geno, his sweat, enough to make Sidney’s nostrils flare with greed. 

“I think I want you naked too,” Geno says, almost thoughtfully. Sidney squirms to comply, because fair is fair, though Geno isn’t precisely naked yet, still in his underwear. Geno clamps down on him, though, letting Sidney take all his weight, knocking the breath out of him and driving his hips to jerk helplessly, his cock starting to leak. “I make you naked.”

“Fuck,” Sidney breathes out. Geno’s slow about this, too, rolling off Sidney with a grace he shouldn’t have with his size, fluid and flexing. He starts with Sidney’s shoes, then his socks, pulling them off by the toes, and it gets Sidney squirming again, his breath coming out embarrassingly fast already.

Geno’s long fingers make quick work of Sidney belt and fly, but he’s slow to drag Sidney’s pants off, leaving Sidney’s legs goosebumped and bare but neglecting his underwear, too. For his shirt and jacket he goes behind him, makes Sidney sit up against him, and his cock looks more obscene like this, painfully hard and fighting to stand against his bared stomach. 

All of Sidney’s clothes are dropped to the floor, and Geno’s hand goes around to Sidney’s front, grabbing Sidney through his briefs and squeezing. He kisses Sidney hard, in that consuming, sloppy way of his, and presses his clothed cock against the small of Sidney’s back, and it’s so fucking good, so close to what he wants—surrounded by Geno, his cock throbbing in Geno’s hand, squirming in his hold and sucking on his tongue. 

“Oh,” Sidney groans, rocking his hips. Distantly, he feels a slick panic rise up in him as he realizes how close he is, his balls drawing up tight and his dick bobbing, and he doesn’t want it to be over like this, so fast—“Oh fuck, Geno, _Geno_.”

Geno squeezes him again, rubs him and fucks his tongue into Sidney’s mouth once again, and it takes every ounce of will he has to wrench away, heart pounding and his head shaking frantically. “Geno, please, not yet, wait just—”

“Shh,” Geno says, placing a firm, soothing hand at the back of Sidney’s neck. It’s another torturous second before he’s taken his hand away from Sidney’s cock, a second in which Sidney grits his teeth and buries his face in Geno’s neck to keep himself from coming. 

He whimpers when Geno pats at the damp spot where the head of Sidney’s cock is pushing against the fabric, but Geno’s hand moves away and he shushes Sidney again, rubbing his neck. Sidney takes in and releases deep, steadying breaths, feeling a bit like he’d nearly drowned.

Geno’s lips are soft at his temple but still wet and claiming. “I think, I make you come, relax you,” Geno tells him gently. “Slow you down. It’s okay, Sid.”

“I’m relaxed,” Sidney says. Geno huffs into his neck, nibbles lightly at the tense line of his shoulder, and Sidney sighs and drops his head back. “I really am. I promise.”

“Only few weeks,” Geno says, and it would sound reassuring but he’s repeating Sidney’s words back to him, voice dry and a little flat. Sidney wants to get his back up—it had been _Geno’s_ idea to stay away from each other in Sochi, borne out of a round of chirping from Nealer and to a lesser extent Paulie about them being the Romeo and Juliet of the Winter Games. He and Sidney had talked seriously about how they were going to handle it, the first and only time they had broached the subject out loud, and Geno was the skeptical one.

“Maybe it be good if we not see each other,” Geno said. He looked like he was punching himself in the heart, face hangdog and unhappy, but stubborn, too. “Was easier when we just friends, but now…”

He trailed off without acknowledging how hard it would be to play against each other now that they were more than friends, but Sidney knew what he meant. At the same time, he knew how important it would be to be able to play against each other, knowing it was a decent possibility. It was what made him agree, somewhat hastily but not insincerely, to avoid seeing Geno outside of necessity while in Sochi.

“It’ll be fine,” Sidney had said bravely. “Only a few weeks, we can do that.” It hadn’t sounded fine then, and it feels less fine now, on the eve of it.

It’s his instinct to rehash this all now, to justify why he feels like this—and the second element to this, the one he hasn’t brought up, is still lingering at the edges of his mind, waiting—but Sidney stamps down on that. He wants something else, something way more, and feels little self-consciousness in saying that.

“I’m relaxed, and I want you to fuck me,” Sidney says firmly. It’s gratifying to hear the small, sharp breath Geno takes, to feel it against his neck. “Because you can’t fuck me for a few weeks, and that’s going to suck, Geno.”

Geno stays quiet, hands idle along Sidney’s front, until one starts rubbing at his lower belly. “No sucking in Sochi, Sid,” Geno says into the back of his neck, kissing him there, and Sidney can’t help the laughing groan he lets out, shaking his head.

“You’re the worst, geez. You’re so terrible.”

“I’m best,” Geno declares. He firms up his kisses again, sucking a little as if to make his point, a scrape of teeth that makes Sidney shiver in his arms and bite his bottom lip. He shakes his head, but it’s perfunctory, a token protest that he can’t fully believe in and probably never could.

His body is pleasantly humming now, his arousal a dull and distant ache in his gut, and Sidney doesn’t know why it seems okay now to let their spare and precious minutes tick by as Geno kisses and sucks at the back of his neck, but it does. He lifts his hand up and behind him to sift into Geno’s thick hair, and Geno sighs happily, digging his teeth in, and even then it takes Sidney an embarrassingly long moment to realize what he’s doing. 

“Hey. _Hey_. You can’t give me a hickey.”

“Why?” Geno asks, all innocence, careful cluelessness dripping from every word. He’s so full of shit, and Sidney wriggles against him in consternation, a protest he doesn’t really want to give now but knows he must.

“Because,” Sidney says stupidly. Geno chuckles at him, fond and a little mean, drawing a huff and another wriggle. “I’m meeting my _dad_ tomorrow, Geno.”

“So?”

“God, you’re such a fucking—I can’t meet my dad with a hickey, you dick. Stop it.” He wriggles one more time, pointedly grinding back against the bulge of Geno’s erection, smiling when he feels him jerk. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

Geno mutters something under his breath, darkly Russian. He moves one hand up, cupping over one of Sidney’s pecs, spreading his hand and squeezing until the smile freezes on his face. “I want,” Geno says. He places a hard, sucking kiss at the spot he’d been working on Sidney’s neck, the sound loud over the sudden rushing in Sidney’s ears. “I can’t have both, hm? Can’t mark and fuck?”

Sidney swallows hard, clenching his fingers in Geno’s hair for a minute, the thick and heavy possessiveness in Geno’s voice making his cock swell again. “Not there,” Sidney says eventually, quietly. “Not where people can see. Come on.”

“Okay,” Geno says with a heavy, put-upon sigh, though Sidney can feel the twitch of his smile against his neck. Sidney tries to twist around, to position them better and more suggestively, and Geno stops him by putting his hands on his hips. “Move up,” he says, “On belly,” and Sidney moves quickly, flattening himself out towards the foot of the bed and giggling high in his throat when he takes position.

“This is weird,” Sidney says. He has his arms out in front of him and a view of hotel carpet, just able to peek over the edge of the bed. “Are you seriously going to fuck me at the foot of the bed?”

“Maybe,” Geno tells him. Sidney can hear and feel him shifting around, mumbling a Russian swear word and then getting off the bed to hunt down their suitcases. Sidney takes the opportunity to shift more comfortably, folding his arms and pillowing his head on them, spreading his legs.

The bed dips and Geno’s hand is on the small of Sidney’s back, rubbing just above the waistband of his briefs. He drops what feels like a condom and their familiar tube of lubricant next to Sidney’s hip, sliding it under to warm, and kneads Sidney’s ass with one large hand, making Sidney shudder. He cranes his head back and eyes Geno kneeling between his spread legs, thoughtful and a little calculating, as though deciding on his next move. Sidney grins at him.

“This would be easier with my underwear off, if you’re taking suggestions.”

“You be quiet,” Geno says, all feigned impatience and true fondness. “I’m think.”

“Geno,” Sidney says, drawing out all the vowels. “If you fuck me like this I’m gonna fall off the bed.”

“So?”

“So then Canada might not medal.”

Geno laughs out loud then, picking up his hands to drop his face into them. “I’m so crazy,” he says while Sidney beams back at him. “So crazy I’m with you. You terrible.”

“ _I’m_ terrible? You’re the one who’s going to have to explain to Yzerman that his captain couldn’t make the Olympics because of a sex injury, that _you_ caused. I think you’re terrible.”

“No, you think I’m great,” Geno says, smug as hell, and he takes Sidney by the hips and flips him onto his back. His hands go for Sidney’s thighs, grabbing as much of them as he can and tugging Sidney up by them, so his ass is halfway on Geno’s knees and his legs are splayed out on either side of his hips. “Better,” he says, grinning with dimples and his tongue poking out past his lips. Sidney kicks him in the ribs.

“You were the one who—” But Geno’s tugging at his briefs now and Sidney shuts up to concentrate on shifting helpfully, eager to get them off. He groans when his cock is freed and Geno takes it gently, rearranges it to lie flat on his belly with a look that clearly repeats “Better,” though he says nothing. 

“There, Bossy,” Geno tells him. “Never stop complain. You get fingers now, is that good? Make you happy?”

“Yes, please,” Sidney says happily, smiling beatifically up at Geno and watching his eyes darken. He scrubs his hand over his face and picks up the lube, narrowing his eyes at Sidney.

“You spoiled. Bratty captain.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Sidney waves airily at Geno, squirming excitedly against the slick fingers he feels stroking over his hole. “Get it done or I’ll do it myself. Ow, don’t pinch me!”

Geno hums tunelessly while he fingers Sidney, as though he’s bored, though Sidney keeps an appreciative eye on the growing bulge between Geno’s legs, still straining against his underwear. When blunt fingertips nudge at Sidney’s prostate, Sidney jerks and Geno goes all smug again, sliding his fingers out to the tips, rubbing his thumb in the crease of Sidney’s ass before letting it tug at Sidney’s rim. And when Sidney is starting to sweat, rolling his hips and getting really worked up again, Geno stops and makes a big show of getting more lube, fucking three fingers into Sidney with a renewed and slick squelch that makes Sidney go hot with shame and want.

“ _Hey_ ,” Sidney says, drawing it out again. “C’mon, I’m ready.” He kicks Geno in the ribs once more, but lightly this time, a pleading nudge.

“Shh,” Geno tells him. His eyes are roving heatedly over Sidney’s body, heavy and searching, and Sidney shudders without meaning to. Geno’s eyes are too big and too liquid for him right now, rich brown that Sidney wants to melt into and never look away from. “I’m think again.”

“What _now_?”

“Where my mark go.”

And Sidney can’t help the groan that rolls through him, the suddenly frantic jerk of his hips. And he can’t help leaning up on his elbows, forcing himself up as if he were doing sit-ups and whimpering as Geno’s fingers slip out of him as a result of the movement. He surges forward and kisses Geno hard, grabbing at his shoulders, and his eyes drift closed as he takes Geno’s tongue in his mouth and decides he’s not going to relinquish it until Geno’s ready to fuck him.

That time comes sooner rather than later, and Geno is the one who starts squirming, hands going for his underwear and shoving Sidney away pretty forcibly so he can pull it off. “Like this,” Sidney says, perhaps unnecessarily, because Geno’s already going for the condom, his hands shaking and his cock _huge_ when Sidney spares a glance at it. “I’ll—and then you can—” and he moves over Geno’s lap, raising himself up with his hands braced against the headboard.

Like this, his chest is about mouth-level, and Geno doesn’t need a further hint, taking Sidney’s left nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. Sidney moans, tossing his head back, keeping himself raised until his thighs start to tremble, and Geno bites then, tugging it with his teeth until Sidney gasps. “Geno, I need to—”

“Fuck, now,” Geno says, his voice a thick rasp. Sidney reaches down to grip his cock with one hand, holding the rest of his weight with the other and Geno’s strong arms around him. He sinks down onto Geno’s cock with a long, high whimper.

Geno goes back to work on Sidney’s nipple as soon as he’s fully seated, ducking his head down to reach and suckling at it. The mark, Sidney realizes, is going to be around his nipple, at the edge of his areola where Geno’s teeth are scraping, gathering the plumped flesh into his mouth and already starting to sting it up. It’s not the best place, not really hidden in the locker room, but Sidney feels too perfectly full of Geno’s cock, too contently toyed with by his mouth, to really worry about it now. 

Sidney starts a slow rhythm when his chest starts feeling sore, and Geno releases his skin from his mouth and keeps his hands on Sidney’s hips. He eases him up and down with hands on Sidney’s hips, eyelashes fluttering a little as he groans, and Sidney groans too, taking Geno deep.

He makes a high, frantic sort of noise when Geno shifts inside him, angling deeper, putting persistent and electrifying pressure on his prostate. Geno sighs, pets Sidney’s back and ducks his forehead into his throat, pressing a startlingly gentle kiss there, and lets Sidney keep going at exactly at that pace, hitting exactly that spot, chasing the orgasm he can feel starting to build at the base of his spine again.

“Good,” Geno tells him, shuddering between the arms Sidney still has braced against the headboard. “Fucking good, Sid. Keep going.”

“Ah,” Sidney breathes out, tipping his head back like that can help him catch his breath. He’s gripping the headboard so hard that his hands are starting to hurt, and he can’t jerk himself like this, so he sets wide, pleading eyes on Geno. “Can you—please—”

“Keep going,” Geno says again, practically growling. His hands are so tight on Sidney’s hips, one hand moving to his thigh and squeezing so hard it could hurt, if Sidney could feel anything else but Geno’s cock, stretching him wide and fucking him open. 

Sidney keeps going, working himself on Geno’s cock until he can only whimper, his stomach tight and his arms shaking. He lowers himself once and stays there in Geno’s lap, resting and squirming, panting into Geno’s neck, and that gets Geno’s mouth on his chest again, biting at his mark, making his left nipple feel swollen and tight while he rolls the other thoughtlessly in his fingers.

“ _Geno_ ,” Sidney says, feeling a little wild. He tries moving again, overwhelmed by sensation, the clawing need to come, and Geno wraps his arms around him and thrusts up in a slow, steady grind. Sidney gambles on his strong hold for leverage, the steadier position of being held on his cock and stuffed full of it, and tries to get a hand on his dick. 

But Geno elbows it away and Sidney groans, wanting to scream at him that now is not the time to be an asshole, not when Sidney feels like he’s about to come apart at the seams and just needs—

Geno tugs at his nipple with his teeth _hard_ and Sidney claws at Geno’s shoulder, crying out and twisting in his hold, knocking his cock against Geno’s stomach desperately.

He feels Geno tense, grunting harshly and dropping his forehead into Sidney’s throat again. Geno shakes his way through his orgasm, keeping Sidney still and open and aching. And then Geno brushes a shaky hand between them, palming Sidney’s cock and squeezing it once, and Sidney is gone, collapsing forward and planting his face into Geno’s shoulder as he comes. 

For a while, all Sidney can think of is getting air, his muscles tingling as his blood stops racing quite so harshly. Geno’s arms have gone loose around him, but they tighten when Sidney shifts. Geno groans, and he reminds Sidney that he’s still inside him, sensitive and softening. 

Sidney kisses the crown of Geno’s head and carefully eases off. Geno groans again and shoots him a betrayed sort of look but stretches out on his back easily enough, relaxing. Next to him, Sidney stretches out, too, but moves backward, his head by Geno’s ankles and his feet flat against the headboard, because he thinks if his head hits a pillow and if he gets properly under the covers, he might go to sleep.

He doesn’t want to go to sleep.

Geno looks at him with that same squinty-eyed distrust, putting his hands behind his neck and crossing his legs at the ankles. Sidney sighs and tucks his head close to them, the hair on Geno’s legs tickling his cheek until Geno nudges at his head with his foot.

“Get up here, what you doing?”

“I’m comfortable,” Sidney says, smiling at Geno. 

It’s clear that Geno wants to look exasperated. He almost manages it, fitting on a stern face for all of two seconds before he’s smiling again and then crawling forward, bracing himself over Sidney on his hands and then leaning down to kiss him gently on the mouth. 

He kisses all over Sidney’s face, fast and light enough to draw pleased giggles from him. “So you like foot of the bed,” Geno says accusingly, kissing Sidney’s nose. “Lie before.” 

“It’s all right, I guess,” Sidney says, shrugging. “Better now that you’re here.” He feels immediately ridiculous for saying that, flushing hot from the tips of his ears, but Geno’s grin is brilliant, tinged with smugness but mostly pure happiness. 

“Yes. All best when I’m there, you know this.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” Geno kisses him on the mouth quickly in answer, a short peck, and Sidney reaches up with one hand to sift his fingers back in Geno’s hair and draw him in for longer, a deeper, wetter kiss. Geno makes a small noise, curious and a little surprised, and when he pulls away his lips are plump and wet and entirely tempting, stirring heat in Sidney’s gut.

Geno lets out a shaky laugh, eyes widening. “Really, Sid?”

“Yeah,” Sidney says, lifting his chin. He slides the hand that’s not cupping Geno’s head down between them, using it to cup Geno’s soft cock. It hangs low between his legs, his balls heavy against Sidney’s fingers, and Geno shudders with dark eyes as Sidney gently peels the condom off. 

He’s pretty smooth about tying it off and dumping it in the trash bin by the bed, reaching back immediately to stroke his fingertips lightly over Geno’s cock, thumbing at the sticky head. Geno jerks a little, eyelids going heavy, his mouth hanging open. “Can you?” Sidney asks, half honest and half teasing, and Geno huffs and thrusts into Sidney’s grip almost defiantly, his dick starting to thicken in Sidney’s hand.

“Of course can. I’m pack lots condoms, know you can’t get enough.” He clearly wants Sidney to be embarrassed about that, and Sidney does blush helplessly again, but he lifts his chin higher and gives Geno a firm, challenging look.

“Put up or shut up, then.”

“Gonna fuck you off the _bed_ ,” Geno growls, shoving their mouths together. Sidney laughs and lets him.

It’s slower this time, by necessity. Sidney doesn’t think of the time they spend curled against each other, handling each other carefully until they’re both hard and wanting again, as anything wasted. Geno’s hair is all fucked up from Sidney’s fingers, his lips are so red and so fucking bitable, and his eyes are so heavy on the mark he made on Sidney’s chest, already darkening from pink to red. It will be purple by morning and Geno brushes his fingertip over it lightly to coax a shiver out of Sidney, his cock jerking in Geno’s hand.

They don’t fuck at the foot of the bed, either. Geno arranges Sidney on his stomach and spread across the bed and basically lies over him, blanketing every inch of Sidney and guiding his cock inside of him slowly and steadily. It’s overwhelming and perfect, and all too soon it has Sidney working his cock against the bed, whimpering as Geno drives his hips against Sidney’s ass.

Geno slots his fingers into Sidney’s, kisses the slightly sore spot at the back of his neck, and fucks him until he’s panting. When Geno comes, he moans harshly into Sidney’s ear, staying tense and hot for so long that Sidney wishes they hadn’t brought more condoms, that he could feel Geno release in him and fill him up.

Imagining that triggers his own orgasm, coming all over the bedspread until he has to jam his eyes shut from sensory overload. He feels _too_ good, like he weighs nothing as Geno moves gently over him, pulls out carefully and dumps the second condom before kissing him square in the middle of his spine.

Sidney blinks his eyes open and brings himself to shift up laboriously onto his hands and knees and then finally puts shaky legs over the side of the bed. Geno wanders in from the bathroom, looking very sleepy, and Sidney smiles up at him lazily. 

“Don’t shower. We’ll shower tomorrow.”

“We smell,” Geno says solemnly, no small amount of delight in his voice. He hugs Sidney quickly and makes a face at the bedspread. “You make a mess.”

“Sorry,” Sidney says, leaning into Geno’s arms. He’s not sorry at all, and when Geno kisses his forehead it seems like a thank you. He feels wrung out and Geno is good and solid, better once he’s stripped the bedspread off and turned down the sheet and blanket, perfect for them to crawl under and curl up together in.

He’s afraid it’ll be hard to fall asleep, that he’ll stay up thinking about hours and minutes ticking by before he won’t get to see Geno like this anymore. But Geno feels too good and familiar, his snoring too soft and comforting, and Sidney is too satisfied to do anything but drift off, tucking his nose into Geno’s arm and holding on tight. 

Sidney wakes up aware that Geno’s already awake, sitting up enough that Sidney’s face is pressed into his stomach. He’s stroking over Sidney’s back with one hand and holding his phone in the other, and when Sidney shifts he says, “Shh,” a little absentmindedly.

“You shh,” Sidney says, pursing his lips against the muscles of Geno’s abdomen. Geno pets him between his shoulder blades in answer, humming a little. His hand drifts up to land in the hair at Sidney’s nape, lightly scratching there, and Sidney sighs and lets his eyes flutter shut again for a moment, knowing he’s playing right into Geno’s hands but feeling soothed anyway.

“Sleep more,” Geno murmurs. His voice is thick with sleepiness, a little gravelly. The prospect sounds nice, because Sidney is warm and comfortable and Geno’s belly is his favorite pillow sometimes. “Still early, breakfast come in one hour. Kolya wake me up with excited text, he just get in town.”

And Sidney’s eyes flip open as he remembers what day it is, what’s going to happen today. Sleep seems a stupid waste of time, and Sidney can’t help tightening his arm over Geno’s waist, his pout forming again. Geno is still his for a few more hours, at least until after breakfast. He’s not for Kulemin yet.

Geno must feel him tense up, because he scratches at his hairline again, but Sidney stretches against him, yawning. “I’m awake,” Sidney says insistently, looking up at Geno. His hair is still fucked up, and Sidney wishes it could stay that way for the next two weeks at least.

“Good,” Geno says, smiling a little. His eyes are so soft and Sidney can’t help catching them with his; he wants to keep those, too, that look. “Can take a piss now.”

Sidney squeezes him instinctively, considering putting up a fight, but Geno just chuckles and tousles his hair, extracting himself from Sidney’s hold by taking advantage of his early morning slowness. 

He’s still lounging in bed when Geno comes back, but he’s not sleeping. Sidney’s thinking about the hour they have before breakfast, and the fond smile on Geno’s, the sleepy puffiness of his eyes, and the way his lips are still very pink and very swollen from last night. 

“Hey,” Sidney says when Geno just stares at him for a bit, looking pretty dopey. “C’mere.”

Geno fits on a wary sort of look, but comes over anyway, curling up on his side next to Sidney and throwing his arm over Sidney’s chest. “Hey,” he says, trying to ape Sidney’s tone, and Sidney just smiles at him until Geno’s eyes are soft again. When his lips press against Sidney’s, they are soft too, like a kiss to say hello. Sidney kisses back happily. 

Geno gives him a kiss on the cheek and strokes his hand lightly over Sidney’s chest. He brushes his palm briefly over the bruise at his nipple, and looks at Sidney’s face like he’s studying him. “Sore?” Geno asks, brow suddenly creasing. “We do—a lot. And is very long flight.”

“I know,” Sidney says, still smiling, unable to stop. “I’m good. Really great.” He fits his hand over Geno’s hand, rubbing his thumb over Geno’s knuckles. “Better if you kiss me again, though.”

“So greedy,” Geno sighs, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling exaggeratedly. He swallows Sidney’s giggle up with another kiss, though, long and warming Sidney up all over. 

When they break apart, it’s all either of them can do to break apart further, to drag themselves out of the bed and drift towards the bathroom. Sidney goes slowly, trying to walk off the satisfying ache he feels with every step, and Geno’s hands flutter gently to his hips, his mouth pressed into Sidney’s neck, and Sidney can feel his worry in the set of his lips.

“It feels good,” Sidney assures him. Geno makes a grumpy sort of noise, disbelieving, but lets Sidney go so he can get into the shower.

Breakfast is waiting for them when they’re both clean, and they eat in their bathrobes, Sidney sitting cross-legged on the bed with Geno lounging in the chair across from him. “My dad gets in around noon,” Sidney says just to say something, and Geno nods absently, sipping at tea. “We’re gonna get lunch at the airport, I think.”

“I’m meet with some—you know. Team,” Geno tells him. Sidney nods too, sharply, and tamps down on the awkwardness in the room, the inevitability of them leaving each other which suddenly blankets the air between them. 

There’s time, Sidney knows. He had timed it this way. The conversation they have to have still sits heavy in the pit of his stomach, and he buries it in eggs for now, toast dipped in yolk and coffee that isn’t sweet enough. Geno has cleared his plate and sits back in the chair, hands on his stomach, his robe barely tied, and Sidney chews and gathers the will to talk. 

“Hey,” he says when he can’t get any more crumbs on his fork. “I was thinking.”

“Great big shock,” Geno says. He grins lazily at Sidney, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sidney Crosby thinking. I call Rossi, give him great story.”

“Shut up, Geno,” Sidney says, allowing himself a minute to pout. Geno makes kissing noises at him, puckering his lips ridiculously. He stretches his legs all the way out in front of him until he can reach the bed from under the table, planting his toes near the edge of it. Sidney stares down at them for a second, swallowing hard. “No, hey, listen. I was thinking it would be okay to, um, be with other people in Sochi.”

Geno stays silent. His feet slide off the bed and hit the carpet with twin thumps, and he stares at Sidney with a frown, his head tilted. Sidney knows he’s translating, making sure he heard correctly. He still asks, “Again? Slower, maybe?”

“Remember—remember before last offseason, after—after the Flyers series?” Sidney asks, waiting for Geno to nod before he continues. “We were together during the season, but then when we went home—”

“Be with other people,” Geno repeats. His voice is very flat, and not revealing anything at all. He reaches out for his mug and takes a long gulp of tea. When his bottom lip comes away wet, he licks it, and Sidney watches all of this very carefully, soaks in every detail.

“Right,” Sidney says when Geno doesn’t say anything else. “We were with other people. I was thinking we could do that again, just while we’re in Sochi.”

“But then last summer, after Bruins series—” Geno shudders and his eyes go dark, and Sidney doesn’t blame him one bit. “We say no other people. Just us.”

“Yeah, we did. And I still want that, that was really good and I like it just us. But—it’s the Olympics. You’re going home.”

“Don’t understand. What that have to do with relationship?” Geno doesn’t seem angry, or overly, insultingly pleased. He’s mostly confused, Sidney thinks, and a bit difficult to read otherwise. 

“I remember what 2010 was like. It was crazy, right? I mean, everyone was all—” Sidney waves his hands around, not really sure what he’s trying to convey, but Geno snorts and shakes his head, so he decides his point landed. “There was a lot of sex, is what I’m saying. And there’s no reason to think Sochi won’t be like that again. So I’m saying it’s—it’s okay if you have sex with other people. Just, um, use a condom, that’s kind of important, I guess—”

“Not going to Olympics to have sex, Sidney,” Geno says. His voice is very, very even, careful like he’s choosing every word. “Going to win medal. Going to beat _you_ , make my country proud. You think I can’t be few weeks with no sex? I do that last summer and I am fine.” His jaw goes tight for a minute, and he narrows his eyes at Sidney. “You can’t be few weeks with no sex? Too many—too much in 2010?”

“What? No, that’s not—that’s not even what I meant, okay? I meant that, you say now you don’t have to have sex, and I _believe_ you—I’m not telling you to go over and fuck your whole team. I’m just saying that, if you want to, don’t feel like you have to—to miss out because of me.” Sidney watches that work itself out over Geno’s face, and then feels compelled to petulantly add, “And you’re not going to beat me, Geno, sorry.”

Geno lets out a hooting laugh, shaking his head. “Very nice of you, give sex permission if I want. What if I don’t want? What if I just want you?”

Sidney flushes warm, ducks his head to look down at his empty plate. “Then—then fine. Don’t have sex with anyone else. But don’t—if you want to, if you meet someone and you want to hook up in the heat of the moment, just do it. That’s what I’m telling you.”

“And you? You have sex with other people if I say okay?” Sidney nods, glad that Geno gets it, though he doesn’t really want to have sex with anyone else, either. Geno’s jaw tightens again. “What if I say not okay?”

He feels a shiver at the hard darkness in Geno’s voice, and stays firm in looking down at his plate. “Then I—I wouldn’t. No one else for me. But you still could.”

“Not very fair for you.”

Sidney shrugs. “I can handle you being with other people for a few weeks, as long as you—” He breaks off, shrugging again, and hears Geno groan. When he looks up, Geno has his face in his hands, running a hand through his hair.

“This so stupid. You so stupid. Is just a few weeks, you think is end of the world, have to have sex for hours because we—fine. Okay. In Sochi, we be with other people, it okay. I give sex permission too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up, Sid,” Geno says sharply. He looks somewhere between amused and pissed off, and his smile is crooked and dark when Sidney spots it, rueful as he shakes his head. “I have to. Have sex with everybody if we want, have permission. But we come back after games, just us again, no one else. I fuck you 50 times if you want, not stop because you such stupid. Most stupid person ever I met.”

“I’m not stupid,” Sidney says balefully. “This is a good idea. I’m trying to be _nice._ ”

“Terrible idea,” Geno tells him, grave and solemn. He finishes his tea and stands up, coming around the table to sit next to Sidney on the bed. He yanks Sidney’s robe down by the collar and looks at his chest, smirking when Sidney looks, too, feeling himself go warm at the sight of Geno’s mark near his nipple, the mark that Geno presses on now until Sidney is squirming. 

“50 times not enough to fuck stupid out of you,” Geno says, and Sidney shoves at him with a squawk. 

 

 

Being in Sochi is fairly easy to adapt to. Sidney won’t admit that he’d been worried, just as he’d worried in 2010, about finding new routines quickly and gelling with the team even faster than that. There are parts that are unsettling, but at first he thinks of it like an extended road trip with the added convenience of having the same room to go back to every night. 

It’s easy because, for as much as Sochi is different from Pittsburgh, and as much as Team Canada is different from Penguins hockey, there are lots of things that feel comfortable fast, not necessarily the same but not so discomfortingly different. Working with Kuni helps, and rooming with Shea, and catching up with guys that he _knows_ but doesn’t get to see enough is a good thing, a definite perk. He likes being with the team because it feels like _his_ team quickly, and that’s kind of the thing that Sidney loves most about hockey. 

In 2010, it felt like he was in love with everybody all at once. It’s not long before he starts feeling that again but it’s different now, bigger and more mature, and not the wild, wide-eyed feeling that had been clawing at his chest in Vancouver. 

Sidney tries not to think about what’s missing and instead thinks about what’s there. And there’s Kuni, steadfast and solid, and Mike’s system, and everybody buying into it from the start. There is a smothering defense and a nervous Carts at his other elbow, patient but still _Carts_ , more cordial than friendly and too quiet for Sidney to really warm up to as fast as everyone else. 

He knows Carts and knows what he’s supposed to be on Sidney’s line, but it’s so much easier with Kuni, like breathing. Off the ice, it’s easier with everybody: PK’s exuberance and Matty’s unending loyalty and Shea, huge and comfortable and familiar, bullying him and being kind to him in turns that make his stomach ache with a longing he’s not supposed to be thinking about.

He’d like to say he’s successful in not thinking about Geno, but Bergy is the one to catch him glancing down as a Team Russia crowd passes them in the Village one day on the way to lunch. As agreed upon, Sidney ignores Geno, but can’t ignore how forcibly Geno ignores him, how he feels the weight of him _not_ acknowledging Sidney like a blow to the back of the head.

“Oh boy,” Bergy says softly. Loping ahead, Shea looks back with a raised eyebrow and smirks when Bergy just shakes his head. “We have a sad puppy captain with us right now.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Sidney says. “I’m not sad, or a puppy, and—” And then he can’t even defend himself because they’ve passed people who want pictures with him, and he’s so bad at saying no.

Bergy is kind enough not to bring it up again once they’ve made it to the cafeteria, but Shea presses and Getzy, joining them with Kuni and Perry on either side, is always down for badgering gossip out of people. “So you’re not going to talk at _all_?” Getzy asks. “Like, you’re not gonna say hi or anything? Just radio silence?”

“We’re not supposed to,” Sidney points out, but three guys snort in unison and one guy doesn’t wait until he’s finished taking a drink, which is _gross_ , Getzy. “Well, we’re not. It’s a rule.”

“Fuck that,” Getzy says, nudging Shea. “You can say _hi._ Webs and Sutes said hi.”

“Yeah,” Shea says. “I said hi to Sutes. I didn’t get struck by lightning.”

“See? He didn’t get struck by lightning.”

“I saw you nod at Martin yesterday, Sid,” Bergy says. Sidney glares at him, taking back every nice thing he’s thought about him; Bergy is actually worse than all of them because he’s stealthily evil, kind only as a front. “He nodded back. No one took your C away.”

“Olli is waving at us right now,” Kuni chimes in, equally evil. He waves cheerfully and Sidney turns before it’s too late—yes, Olli is waving at them from a table full of Finns, and Sidney would feel like a massive dick if he didn’t wave back. He does it with gritted teeth, which makes Olli frown and lower his hand uncertainly, and Jussi gives Sidney a withering, disapproving look.

Sidney sighs and resolves to text him. 

“So what makes Malkin special?” Getzy asks, grinning with all his teeth. Bergy and Kuni are both smiling into their coffee cups, Shea coughing exaggeratedly into his fist, and Perry seems completely unconcerned with the entire conversation, stirring the last of his coffee with great concentration, which makes him Sidney’s favorite by default. 

“He said he wasn’t going to talk to any of us,” Sidney says stubbornly. He looks at Kuni pleadingly. “And he hasn’t, right?” He tries not to sound too unsure about that, but his stomach feels pretty weird the longer it takes Kuni to answer.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take that long for Kuni to shake his head. “Nope. Radio silence. Seems like he’s in that mood to me.” Sidney feels Kuni nudge his ankle under the table with his foot and feels flushed with luck and warmth for him, another wave of gratitude that Kuni is here with him. 

“So he’s a dick,” Shea says. Kuni nods solemnly but Sidney can’t help frowning. 

“He’s not a dick. He’s concentrating on his game, which is what we should all be doing instead of gossiping.” That sounds good and final and authoritative, but nobody looks properly chastised except for Bergy, who ducks his head to eye his food and hide his smile. 

“Nope,” Getzy chirps, shaking his head with a frown. “He’s a dick. Not surprised.”

“I can confirm he’s a dick,” Bergy says. He gives Sidney his biggest, most apologetic eyes. “I mean, you know why. Sorry.”

“He really is kind of a dick, Sidney,” Kuni says softly. Sidney sighs heavily, wondering if it’s worth the effort to argue that Geno really isn’t a dick—not for _this_ , anyway. And he would really rather Getzy not start throwing stones about dickish teammates while Pears is sitting right next to him, because that could get ugly.

PK winds up saving the conversation, throwing himself into a seat near Pears with Johnny and Matty and launching into a story about getting lost in the Village with some alpine skiers. He sits with one hand gesticulating wildly and one arm around the back of Johnny’s chair, and Sidney notes how Johnny leans into the arm casually, comfortably. He feels a twinge of ridiculous jealousy that almost makes him want to bring up Geno again, stupidly, because he misses him a lot and a bit more every day despite every effort.

The jealousy is there when they all leave together and pass the Team Russia crowd again, on their way in to eat. It’s there when PK high-fives Ovechkin for no reason whatsoever, and quickly dissolves into annoyance when Getzy, snickering, elbows Sidney and stage-whispers, “Say hi, Sid!”

Sidney looks out of the corner of his eye, knowing Geno’s there and knowing he’s ignoring them, and indeed he is. He’s talking to Popov, shoulders loose and relaxed in the Team Russia jacket that it’s too warm out for, wearing red track pants that shouldn’t look that fucking good on _anybody_. The annoyance flares back into jealousy, then some distinct unhappiness, and Sidney feels kind of like a teenager.

He’s too busy trying to look at Geno without looking like he’s looking at Geno to notice when Pears sticks his foot out. “Oops,” Getzy says when he catches Sidney mid-trip by the arm, Shea at Sidney’s other side with an arm around his waist. “Little distracted there, Sid?”

“Need some help, Captain?” Shea asks, laughter not well hidden in his voice.

Pears is humming tunelessly with his hands shoved in his pockets, wandering up ahead, and Sidney glares at the back of his head.

“You’re all dicks,” he announces, unable to keep from laughing anyway. Shea and Getzy hug Sidney between them and laugh and Sidney tries to flail away before—

“Is this a group hug? It’s a group hug!” PK yells, and then it’s a matter of just giving in to the pile that descends on him, and really enjoying it because it’s impossible not to, no matter how it started. Sidney ignores the fact that if it’s too warm out for that Team Russia jacket, it’s definitely too warm to be hugged by multiple teammates at once.

By the time they’ve untangled, Geno’s completely out of sight and Sidney doesn’t really feel ignored anymore. He should concentrate on what’s there, Sidney knows, not what he’s missing. That’s important. He repeats that to himself as he gives Pears a necessary retaliatory elbow, a soft jab, and gets a small smile in return. 

 

Sidney’s not having sex with anybody. He knows he technically could, has noted invitations to pick back up old Vancouver hookups if he wants to, knows that the only difference between now and 2010 is Geno, and that Geno is supposed to not be a difference, that was the agreement. 

He knows about Johnny and PK and there are others he’s not quite sure of but suspects, politely ignores any and all comings and goings from different floors in their dorms and listens when people feel the need to brag. Sidney works on the jealousy thing. 

He knows that Petro sneaks over to the Team USA dorms and doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t call him on it or talk about inter-team possibilities and consequences. Tazer is the one who loudly discusses seeding possibilities when they come up at breakfast, being so obvious about not looking at Petro that he might as well be staring right at him. Petro goes red in the face, his shoulders go tense, and he gets squeezed tightly and protectively between PK and Johnny. Sidney changes the subject, keeping a conversation about curling going until Petro’s shoulders drop from up around his ears.

“You know it’s stupid,” Tazer tells Sidney later, when they can catch a bit of privacy in the dressing room. “We should just talk to him about it. It’s really against the rules, and it’s going to suck if we—”

“We don’t know how the seeding’s going to go yet,” Sidney says, shrugging helplessly. “I’m not going to embarrass him for nothing. Just let it go for now, we’ll handle it if it gets to be a problem.”

“Oh, so is that what you’re waiting for?” Tazer asks. He says it with very little inflection or judgment, just flat and possibly sarcastic, Sidney really can’t tell. Tazer presses his lips together for a second and comes up with a softer expression, curious. “I mean the seeding. And Malkin. Getzlaf said—”

“You guys have a really unhealthy obsession with Geno,” Sidney says in a rush, lacing his skates up quickly to get the fuck out of this conversation. There are several hundred people he would rather have this discussion with than Jonathan Toews, and it probably says something that even Getzy is one of them. 

“You’re the one being weird about it,” Tazer says. “I don’t care how we get seeded. We shouldn’t be fraternizing that much. We’re opponents, and still friends, fine, but opponents too. We should remember that.” He says “we” but he clearly means “you” and Sidney rolls his eyes.

“You’re right. I agree. No matter how we get seeded, Geno and I are still opponents and so are Petro and—whoever. Don’t tell me if you know who it is, I don’t care. Just don’t give him shit for it. I’m serious, Jonny. Leave it alone for now.” 

“Fine.” Tazer looks stormy and stubborn and Sidney doesn’t think this is the last time they’ll talk about it, but he’ll take a stalemate for now. “Hey,” he says when Sidney stands up, reaching for his stick. “You’re still friends, yeah? Remember that too?”

“Yeah,” Sidney says, swallowing hard. “Still friends. I’ll remember.”

“Fuckin weird,” Tazer mutters. He slaps Sidney on the ass and ditches him for Sharpy, and Sidney’s perfectly happy with that being the most action he gets for the next week and a half. 

He’s really not having sex. He doesn’t _want_ to have sex, not with anyone on the team or anyone on Team USA or any other Canadian athletes, whose attention he soaks up regardless when it’s available because it’s available. There is one person in Sochi that he wants to have sex with and that person won’t look at him, so Sidney’s pretty much uninterested. 

He knew that it would be like this. They had agreed—no talking, no texting, and Geno _warned_ him he’d be doing that with everybody, not just Sidney. But Sidney wonders if it would be like _this_ , total silence, being totally ignored, if he hadn’t told Geno he could have sex with other people. He wonders if Geno is thinking of him and missing him and feels ridiculous every time he doubts it, but doubts it nonetheless.

Because Sidney’s not having sex but he’s imagining that Geno is. And why wouldn’t he—Geno could have sex with anyone here. He has a private room, he’s practically royalty and he’s _home_ —he should be taking advantage of it. He should be fraternizing as much as he wants. 

Sidney took advantage of it in Vancouver. He doesn’t regret it and personally knows that Tazer, for all he’s grown up to be frowning and disapproving, had done his own fraternizing too, on the team and off it. He’s guessing Tazer’s girlfriend didn’t give him a hall pass this time, and wonders but would never ask how Tazer feels about that.

He wonders how Geno’s using his hall pass. Sidney eyes Ovechkin, Semin, Kovalchuk because he knows them best, thinks about Kulemin and hears _Kolya_ in his head with a very stupid snarl. 

“Glaring today, huh,” Getzy says without looking up from his phone. They’re at lunch, and tomorrow is their first game, and Sidney’s focused, he really is. But okay, he’s been glaring at the table nearby where a group of Russian athletes are completely ignoring him except for Ovechkin, who sticks his tongue out at Sidney every once in a while or throws up devil horns with one hand.

“I’m not,” Sidney says. He makes a point of looking away from the table so that he’s not lying. Getzy’s laugh seems to start deep in his belly, bubbling out until it’s loud and obnoxious and then breaking off into snickers when Sidney shoves him. 

“Why don’t you text him?” Kuni asks, his face completely neutral. 

Sidney resists the urge to glare at him too and also works to keep the whine out of his voice. “Why don’t _you_ text him?”

“Because I’m not you,” Kuni says without missing a beat. Sidney glances around them quickly, because Carts is sitting between Nash and Patty, but Carts just rolls his eyes very dramatically at Sidney and shoves a quarter of his sandwich in his mouth pointedly, as good of a nonverbal “I don’t fucking care” signal as Sidney’s going to get. 

“This is seriously the cutest fucking drama,” Getzy says. He leans around Sidney to talk to Shea, who has been blessedly quiet for once. “Do us all a favor and steal this kid’s phone tonight and text Malkin that if he doesn’t stop being a dick we’re all gonna pound him and dump him off the coast. Those exact words, write it down.”

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Sidney says, groaning. “Don’t do that, don’t even _think_ about doing that—”

“I’ll get it done,” Shea says solemnly, ruffling Sidney’s hair.

“I’m renouncing my citizenship when this is all over,” Sidney tells them, which sends the whole table into peals of laughter. “You’re all fucking terrible. I should’ve given my roster spot to Nealer.”

The laughter cuts off pretty abruptly, and everyone seems to think about that for a bit. Then Bergy says, in his typical quiet, even tone, “Now _that_ would be fucking terrible,” and Sidney has to bite his lip to keep from starting an argument defending Nealer of all people, and his dubious honor.

That night, though, he considers taking Kuni’s advice, keeping his phone carefully guarded from Shea, who seems to have mostly forgotten about the whole thing. He’s on his laptop on his own bed, feet hanging off the end, and Sidney is thinking about Geno, about what he would even text him.

Geno has a game tomorrow, too. He’s thinking about that when Shea says, “So are you gonna text him, or do I have to come over there?”

Sidney feels himself flush a little at the implication—they had had recurring fights over the extra pillows that ended up in their room in Vancouver. The fights usually descended into wrestling matches and then some other stuff. Sidney remembers it pretty vividly, remembers flushing like this every time he heard Bergy complaining about how he had no pillows, which was extra unfair because he was sleeping in a closet, and Shea’s responding smirks. They never did wind up giving Bergy the pillows. 

“I’m texting him now,” Sidney says a little petulantly. The truth was, he had liked the extra pillows in Vancouver not just because of what they turned into with Shea, but because he liked hugging them at night. Shea had made that a moot point eventually and that was fine, but Sidney wishes he had the extra pillows again, not for Shea, but for hugging. He also wishes the extra pillows could be Geno.

Texting him will have to be enough, he decides. He keeps it simple, texting _Hey good luck tomorrow!_ anddebating for a while over adding a smiling emoji before settling on none. Geno will get an emoji if he answers; that feels like some kind of weird compromise in Sidney’s head. 

“I did it,” Sidney announces, and then he feels stupid. But Shea just smiles over at him, bright enough that Sidney smiles back.

“Good boy.”

“Go to hell,” Sidney says with a helpless giggle, turning off the lamp by his bed and settling down to get some sleep. He’s definitely not going to sit up waiting for Geno to answer him all night, and if he puts his phone close to his pillow, it’s only so he can hear his alarm in the morning. Sometimes he sleeps through it.

“You should never go to bed angry,” Shea says, but it sounds like he’s chirping just to chirp. He yawns and shuts his laptop, stretching and heading for the bathroom.

Sidney hasn’t fallen asleep yet when Shea gets back. He’s thinking that he shouldn’t expect Geno to text him back right away, that Geno could be asleep already, or maybe—maybe busy. Maybe he’s having sex with someone right now, maybe because he has a game tomorrow, for luck.

Last season, Sidney and Geno had gotten into the habit of having sex every night before a game, whenever they could, even if Geno wasn’t playing. Through March, the Penguins went undefeated and Sidney _knew_ it was a coincidence, always insists that he can be rational about superstitions when they turn out like that. They couldn’t have sex before the first game in April because Sidney had had his surgery, and the Penguins lost that game, and Sidney _knows_ it was a coincidence, but—

He wonders if Geno is thinking about that right now, if he’s trying to revive the superstition now that he has permission to. He wonders that as Shea comes back from the bathroom, tweaks Sidney’s foot as he walks by and says, “Goodnight, kid. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Shea,” Sidney says, and he feels disgusted with himself because he sounds so stupidly _sad._

Shea’s movements of getting into bed still, and though he’d turned out his light Sidney can feel Shea looking over at him. “Hey,” Shea says. Sidney wants to pull his pillow over his face, wants to burrow far enough under the covers that he can’t hear the softness in Shea’s voice.

But these beds are tiny and there isn’t far enough to go, so Sidney croaks, “What?”

“It’s okay, you know,” Shea tells him. “I mean—like you said, he’s not talking to anybody not on his team. I bet he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know.”

“He’ll text you back. I bet he was waiting for you to text him first.” Sidney checks his phone without really thinking about it, and Shea can see that he does it and can probably imagine the way Sidney’s face falls when he sees no response yet, even though he knew there’d be no response yet. “Listen, I’ll get the guys to stop giving you shit about it.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Sidney says. “It’s not a big deal. Just go to sleep, okay?”

“Sid, sleep well, really. I mean it.”

“You too.”

They both fall quiet, and Sidney can feel his natural instincts kicking in, understanding that there’s a game tomorrow and that’s what matters most and he needs to sleep for that. He’s almost drifting off when Shea’s voice rumbles quietly through the room again, almost a whisper.

“Hey. You wanna steal Carter’s pillow tomorrow?” 

Sidney grins in the dark. “Yeah, but Doughty’s too, then. I’m not fighting over it again.”

“Deal. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Geno doesn’t text him back. Not by the time Sidney wakes up, or after he showers and dresses, or all through breakfast, when Sidney has to work really hard not to stare at his phone. He might fail at that a bit. Getzy is still asleep and the other usual subjects seem to be bored with the whole affair now, but Bergy gives him small, supportive smiles and passes over extra peanut butter packets that a handful of them have been hoarding and rationing out. 

“Game day, Sidney,” Bergy says. Shea bumps shoulders with him once and then a few times, sitting pressed close. Geno is at a table only a few feet away and Sidney doesn’t look at him, looks at his phone instead. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” Sidney says softly. He pockets his phone and resolves to keep it there, to concentrate on breakfast and the fantastic team he has surrounding him. “I can’t wait.”

 _Are you excited?_ he texts Geno later, unable to stop himself. Geno doesn’t text back, and Sidney isn’t surprised.

It becomes easier to stop thinking about Geno as Sidney settles into the familiar, comforting patterns of a game day. It’s not like he ever texts Geno much on regular game days, anyway; instead, their routines sort of move around each other comfortably, not really intersecting until the very end, when they converge for their handshake. 

There is a comfort here too, with this group that he’s in love with again, that he believes in already. Everybody has routines in hockey, even if some guys don’t rely on them as heavily as Sidney does, and so nothing feels truly out of place for him. He fits here, with this team, even without Geno, and that makes him happy.

The only pang he feels happens when they are getting ready to skate out for the game. They’re very late going out for warm-ups, dawdling in the still new-smelling dressing room, listening to Mike go over their game plan for the final time, because they can never hear it too much when it’s still so new. And when they prepare to hit the ice, there are all sorts of visible quirks at play, hints of routines or superstitions that Sidney doesn’t understand and doesn’t have to. 

There is Johnny with his head bowed, reverent, deep in thought. PK plays with his chain, moving from skate to skate like he’s standing in the line listening to the anthem. Tazer is a little chatty, mouth moving fast as he talks to Nash; his voice is low and serious and Nash is paying very close attention. 

And everybody leaves Pears alone until the last moment they have in the room, when Getzy crowds into him, knocks their helmets together, and Sidney can just barely hear him saying, “It’s you and me, right? You and me, like always. Ready?” 

He moves in front of Pears and they walk out with Pears tapping a pattern that only he knows against Getzy’s back. And Sidney has to swallow hard watching them, has to choke down the wrongness of bumping fists with Tazer and following he and Nash out. 

On the ice, Kuni is close, steady and solid near him, his head tipped back for a moment and his eyes wide open. He looks at Sidney and lets out a breath, bumps his shoulder, taps the maple leaf on Sidney’s chest, and grins wide.

There is nothing Sidney can do but grin back, and mean it with everything he has. 

On the other side of a win, it’s hard to think of Geno again until he’s gathered with another handful of teammates for a postgame snack and people start talking about the results of other games. Sidney knows that Russia won handily and feels as happy as he can be about it, happy for Geno, and decides there’s no harm in saying so, even if it doesn’t get a response, even if Geno is celebrating with someone else right now.

Geno doesn’t have a game tomorrow. He can be doing whatever he wants, drinking whatever he wants, fucking whoever he wants. Sidney doesn’t want to stop him, but he doesn’t—he misses him.

He turns his phone back on and taps out a quick text: _good win, G._ He adds the smiling emoji because why not, and then has to move quickly to keep Getzy from wrestling his phone out of his hands, muscling into Sidney’s space and wrapping his arms around him from behind. Sidney laughs, big and bright and always in spite of himself when it’s like this, and elbows Getzy hard to make everyone with them laugh, too. 

He doesn’t know how Geno’s celebrating, but celebrating like this really isn’t so bad.

That night, Geno doesn’t text him back, and Sidney’s once again not surprised, resigned to it. He lies in the dark for a bit, hearing Getzy again telling Pears “It’s you and me, right?” and his chest clenches, a familiar twist of jealousy. “Like always,” Getzy said, and Sidney clenches his hand around his phone. 

He curls around the stolen extra pillow from Carter’s room, forces his eyes closed, and focuses on Shea’s soft snoring. He thinks about the thump of Kuni’s hand on his chest and breathes steadily, feels the game still coursing through his veins, the win still tingling under his skin, and relaxes.

It’s Getzy and Pears but it’s all of them, now. And Sidney likes that.

In the morning, there is still no text back from Geno, and at breakfast everybody is talking about Valentine’s Day. Johnny and PK have their ankles tangled under the table and everyone’s pretty much ignoring that. Some guys with girlfriends or wives here are notably absent, and Tazer is notably present, which makes Sidney roll his eyes even as he sits down next to him with oatmeal. 

Kuni is talking about how they wouldn’t be doing much back home anyway, with the new baby and all. He sounds wistful and Sidney refuses to feel embarrassed about his blurted-out request for pictures he’s seen already, because he can never actually get enough.

“Where’s Petro?” Tazer asks in the middle of this, and Sidney sighs and leans in close to him, sticking Kuni’s phone under his nose.

“Look at Aubrey, Jonny. Forget about Petro. Aubrey’s the cutest.”

“This is stupid,” Tazer says, pointedly not looking so he can get his bitching out. “This is a game day, this is the worst kind of day to be off fraternizing—oh fuck she’s really cute. She’s so _tiny_.”

“Not even a month yet,” Kuni says. He smiles proudly, and Sidney grins at him, swiping through to show Jonny more, because his face is slowly drooping out of its scowl and going soft with familiar baby enchantment. 

“Are they all that tiny when they’re that young?” Tazer asks, voice a little hushed, and Sidney laughs so hard he drops his head down on Tazer’s shoulder. Tazer pats his hair and Sidney can feel his grin, and it makes Sidney feel like he already won something this morning. 

“You’ll have to have one of your own and find out,” Kuni tells him. Sidney keeps his head where it is, so he feels Tazer’s blush, feels the grin stay steady and happy. 

“Yeah. That’d be good, I think.” 

“Aww,” PK coos, and Sidney’s head gets dislodged because Tazer’s reaching to shove at PK in an answer.

“Here’s a tip: don’t let Sid near any of yours, Aubrey’s still that young and tiny and he’s already tried to steal her,” Kuni says. 

Sidney laughs again, with everyone else, and the laughter breaks out harder when he says, “Well what do you need three for, come on,” and he feels warm.

Not far away, Geno has just joined a table of a few Russians. He sits there and talks to them, not texting Sidney back, and that would be enough to make the warmth go away. But then Petro arrives, breathless and chattering about Sochi puppies, and Tazer’s face tightens just for a second, until—

He relaxes again when Sidney bumps his shoulder, puts his head back where it had been. “It’s a game day, Tazer,” Sidney mumbles. “We won last night, and it’s Valentine’s Day. Be nice.”

“I’m nice,” Tazer says insistently, and then he loudly tells Petro, “Okay, but look, I bet those puppies weren’t as cute as Kuni’s kid.”

It’s a game day again, so no room for thinking of Geno again. Even the point where they go out onto the ice feels easier; the lines are different and Sidney doesn’t quite feel _settled_ , but he does feel hopeful. He has to concentrate on what’s here instead of what’s missing, by necessity. There is work to be done and it doesn’t involve Geno. 

And it’s Valentine’s Day, not that that means anything, because that doesn’t involve Geno either. Geno was always more into Valentine’s Day than Sidney was. Last year they had had the day off, and knowing they’d have to fly to Winnipeg that night, they stayed in bed all day, feeding each other from the box of chocolates that Geno had picked up on the way over. Sidney had picked up flowers on a whim, silly and half as a joke, but Geno put them in a pretty vase in the kitchen and smiled all over the place about them, so Sidney called it a win.

There would be none of that this year because of where they are. It’s not really a big deal, Sidney knows. It’s a stupid holiday he was never really into, and he enjoyed it with Geno the way he enjoyed all of the days with Geno. This is just another day he can’t spend with him here, and that doesn’t hurt any more than the other days.

What hurts is imagining how Geno might be spending it without Sidney, but there’s no real time to imagine that. “Fuckin right!” Tazer yells in his ear when the game is over and they’ve won again, won big and the way everyone thinks they’re supposed to.

Tazer has his arm around Sidney, his face red and happy, hair wet from the postgame shower as they walk back to the bus with the team. Again, some people have broken off to be with their significant others, but there’s a large handful of them together, and Sidney knows that the Village is where they’re all going to end up. There’s the way that everyone thinks they’re supposed to win, and then there’s the way they’re _actually_ going to win, and Sidney knows that it starts by sticking together. 

“I want Carts to be my Valentine,” Tazer says. Sidney laughs into the crook of his neck.

Shea comes up behind them, grabbing them both and shaking them. “No way. Back off, Carts is _mine._ ”

“You can both have him,” Sidney says; he doesn’t even know where Carts is, doesn’t know if he’d gone off with his girlfriend or is somewhere in this crowd. “Really, share him. I don’t want him.”

“That’s right,” Tazer says brightly. “You don’t like anyone on their team.”

“He’s on _my_ team, and he’s not even—he wasn’t even on their team when I said that, geez—” But they’re all laughing too hard then, all three of them, and they shove each other onto the bus and laugh well into the ride.

They lose Tazer to Nash in the dorms, the giddiness from the win starting to fade as they fall into talking shop again. Shea keeps his hold on Sidney, though, when they get to their room and get the door open.

“You forgot to lock it, dumbass,” Sidney says. Shea laughs at him, shaking his head.

“Hey, no, I did not—” But Shea shuts up because the door is open and the light is on and their room isn’t empty.

“Oh,” Sidney says when he sees Geno, sitting on Shea’s bed with his arms folded over his chest. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Geno says gruffly. His forehead is creased and his hair looks fluffed out, like he’d been running his fingers through it. This is the closest Sidney has been to him in days and he looks—he looks good enough that Sidney feels like every cliché of being in love, weak-kneed and a little dizzy with his chest tight. 

Geno’s legs are kind of sprawled out in front of him, but he doesn’t look comfortable, sitting stiff and hunched. Behind Sidney, Shea clears his throat loudly and his arms drop from where they’d been wrapped around Sidney’s chest; Sidney can hear him fiddling with the key to their room.

“Uh, how’d you get in?” Shea says in lieu of a greeting, likely sensing that one doesn’t seem very welcome right now. Geno huffs, and his arms tighten around his chest.

“I’m Russian. Get out.”

“Uh,” Shea says again, as Geno stands up and brings himself to his full height, close to Shea’s and with Sidney between them so that the difference seems like nothing. “Yeah, we’re gonna put a pin in that one but—don’t you have a single room in the—”

“Get out, have to talk to Sid,” Geno says. The steps he takes toward Shea are somewhat menacing, and when Sidney puts his hands up he doesn’t know if he’s doing it protectively or because Geno is near and he wants to reach out and grab him and tug him closer. 

“Yeah, but it’s my room, and you have your own—”

“Shea,” Sidney says quickly, recognizing the hard, awful flare in Geno’s eye, the one that usually precedes him trying to commit murder-by-slashing. Geno doesn’t have a hockey stick in his hands but there will come a time when he does and he and Shea are on the ice against each other; Sidney totally has the future of the Penguins and their penalty kill in mind when he turns wide, pleading eyes on Shea. “Hey, maybe just for a little while? Just so we can talk? I’m sorry, you know I wouldn’t—”

“Get _out_ ,” Geno says impatiently, and Sidney glares at him. Geno just crosses his arms over his chest again, face set and mulish.

“Dick,” Shea mutters, giving Sidney a disbelieving look when he keeps glaring at him. “But that’s my _bed_ —okay, you know what, fine. I’m too tired for this. Don’t do anything on my bed, I swear to God Crosby, I’ll let Getzlaf get the tape out again and I’ll be there to help him this time—”

“Thank you,” Sidney says. 

Shea grumbles more unkind things under his breath and then announces, “And I’m taking all the pillows,” and proceeds to do just that, marching out with a stack of them as Sidney and Geno watch.

“Why you have so many pillows?” Geno asks, his stormy expression giving away to bafflement for a minute. 

Sidney shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “We stole them. Look, are you—I’m really glad to see you but—”

“You—” Geno starts, the thunder back in his voice, his forearms tense across each other, enough to make Sidney want to reach out and grab them and move into their strong hold. But something in Geno’s expression keeps him back but wanting, and he lets Geno speak. “You make me _crazy_ ,” Geno tells him, and Sidney bites his lip, cringing. 

“Sorry. I know I—I should’ve stopped texting when you didn’t answer, but I just—”

“You just what? Want confuse me more? _Have sex permission, Geno_ , you say. _Going home_ , you say. And we say no talking and no texting and then you do, after sex permission?” Geno moves as if to sit down again and Sidney finally breaks, deciding it’s the kind thing to do, as he reaches out and steers Geno away from Shea’s bed to sit on his own. “Sid,” Geno says tiredly. “Don’t need this. Supposed to concentrate, supposed to think hockey and that’s it, and there’s so—coach is hard, Ovechkin hard, supposed to be easy with you.”

Sidney feels wretched, hugging himself so he doesn’t hug Geno, staring down at the floor because he can’t look at Geno. He’s too ashamed. “God, I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, Geno. I won’t text you again, I swear, you won’t hear from me until we’re back in—”

“ _No_ ,” Geno says roughly, and Sidney snaps his head up, surprised. “No, you don’t listen. Listen now. I don’t need to—to watch you with whole team, watch them all over you—”

“They’re not all over me,” Sidney protests, but quiets from Geno’s firm look, his eyes hard.

“Don’t need to think about how—how maybe sex permission was worst thing I ever agree. Or maybe worst thing was say no talk, no text—maybe we both stupid.” Geno clenches his fists in his lap, his turn to look down, and his voice is smaller now, making Sidney feel even more wretched. “Don’t need to miss you like this. I _miss_ you, and so stupid—you have fun and you have permission and I shouldn’t stop you but—”

“But I miss you too,” Sidney says as quickly as he can, feeling breathless. “Fuck, I miss you so much. And I’m not—I’m not using the sex permission, I haven’t done anything with anybody here.”

“Really?” Geno doesn’t look impressed, or like he believes Sidney at all. Sidney thinks of his handsy teammates and thinks of how it must look, but it had been nothing compared to what his imagination was telling him that Geno’s been doing. 

“Really. I haven’t—I didn’t say we should be with other people for _me_. I said it for you. I told you, Geno, I didn’t want you to miss out—”

“But you _stupid_ ,” Geno says, louder now. “So stupid. I tell you I don’t want be with anyone else. You don’t listen. Instead you say _have sex, Geno_ and _no text, Geno_ and then you text me and—and hug Weber and Getzlaf and Toews and entire Western Conference where everyone see—”

“We haven’t done anything, though,” Sidney insists. “And—you were the one who said we shouldn’t talk!”

“You agree!” Geno shoots back, but then he groans and puts his face in his face for a second. “Okay, yes, and I agree about sex permission. But—maybe we should both say no.” He grimaces. “We both stupid, like I say. Such stupid. Whole thing is mistake.”

Sidney swallows hard, agreeing and yet not wanting to dare to. He certainly feels stupid—he had felt so _right_ in telling Geno that he could be with other people, no matter how wrong it felt for him. And now it’s looking like he got it all wrong anyway.

But Geno has missed him, and admits that, and maybe—“So what now?” Sidney asks, hugging himself tighter. “Are we going to—to keep being stupid?”

Geno snorts, shaking his head. He picks his face up from his hands and grabs one of Sidney’s hands, tugging at him until his arms unfold from around himself and tangling their fingers together. Sidney feels that familiar warmth, different from team warmth and hockey warmth, bigger than mostly anything he’s ever felt, spreading through him. The points where Geno’s fingertips press into his skin feel tingly and sweet, and he finds himself relaxing already.

“No,” Geno says. “No excuse for stupid now. No reason to—to miss each other, be sad. I was sad.”

He squeezes Sidney’s hand, and Sidney squeezes back, feeling at once guilty and relieved. Because if Geno missed him, it probably means—“So you didn’t use the permission?” Sidney asks slowly, and Geno groans again.

“No. Bad at doing what you say, Bossy,” Geno says. “Also I miss you, and I was sad. I think you maybe—maybe decide Canada _best_ for sex and—”

“God no,” Sidney says, laughing a little, the sound feeling odd in the tension of the room. “It’s not—best for hockey, maybe, but no—you win that gold medal, fair and square.” 

He’s blushing right after he says it, but suddenly Geno’s grinning, and after his hangdog look from earlier, it’s a welcome, lovely sight. He looks younger and boyish now, Sidney’s mischievous boyfriend, a little bit of a dick but mostly kind and good to Sidney even when he’s being stupid. 

“Good,” Geno says. He uses the hand he’s holding Sidney by to tug him in, and Sidney’s already going, leading with his mouth to kiss Geno hard on the lips. Geno keeps it light, though, and he’s grinning again when he leans back, his eyes dancing and smug. “Russia best hockey, though.”

“Uh, no,” Sidney says, and when Geno nods insistently, still smug as hell, Sidney has to shove at him, push him onto his back and climb on top of him, because he thinks he can make his point better from up here. “I really don’t think so, Geno.”

“Well, we say that you stupid,” Geno says, and when Sidney shoves him again, Geno brings his hand up to pull Sidney down by his neck. Against his lips, he whispers, “It’s okay. Not like you for brains, like your body. Okay hockey, too.”

Sidney nips at Geno’s lips in retaliation, enjoying the plump fullness of them under his mouth, the familiar taste of Geno once he slips his tongue inside. He kisses him with the intent to bruise, to prove and assert himself. Geno gives over completely after a bit, mouth going open and pliant under Sidney’s, until his tongue swipes out to push into Sidney’s mouth, and his teeth work harder and with a teasing danger that makes heat stir in the pit of Sidney’s stomach.

“So,” Sidney says when they break for air, pausing to smack another kiss on Geno’s mouth. “We can see each other again? It’s okay now?”

“See each other right now,” Geno says. He slides his hands down Sidney’s back to cup his ass through his pants, squeezing large handfuls and making Sidney shudder. “Want see more of you, Sid.” 

“Really though,” Sidney says, unable to keep from leaning down again and giving Geno one more kiss before staring at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay?”

“Yes. Not be stupid. Not miss you and be sad,” Geno tells him. “If we play each other, then—we figure out then. It’s important. But this important too.”

Sidney’s heart swells, and he nods firmly. “Yes. This is important, this is really important—fuck, Geno.” He hisses the rest out as Geno thrusts up for a moment, brushing their hardening cocks together. 

“So important,” Geno breathes out, and he starts trying to wrestle Sidney out of his clothes. It’s more difficult for Sidney, wearing his typical game day suit, but Geno has always been a hard worker and he’s efficient this time, stripping Sidney thoroughly and completely without really allowing him to move off him.

It’s easier for Sidney to tug Geno out of his clothes, happy with the easy access of t-shirts and sweats that the athletes all wear. He goes down to his knees to get Geno’s shoes off, to pull down his sweats, and groans when he sees Geno’s not wearing underwear, like he couldn’t be bothered because he knew he was coming to Sidney. 

Geno’s cock is hard enough to be bobbing towards his belly, and Sidney feels ridiculous for having missed it but he did, he really did. It’s impossible not to obsess over it right now, to consider it from this angle and how enticing it is from here, and Sidney can’t help himself: he stays on his knees and angles his mouth up to lick at it.

Geno groans, knees going slack and one palm going flat on the small mattress to keep him sitting upright. His other hand goes into Sidney’s hair as he licks a broad stripe up Geno’s shaft, licks around the base before leaning up until he can get his mouth on the tip.

He keeps only the tip between his lips, sucking on it carefully, sucking harder when Geno’s fingers clench in his hair. Curling his hand around the base, Sidney goes lower, greedily taking Geno in. 

Sidney lets his eyes drop shut after a while, focusing on the taste of Geno on his tongue and the slick sounds of his own mouth, the rasp of Geno’s breath and the smell of him surrounding Sidney. It’s a lot at once, a reminder of how much he’d missed this, and how bad he is at denying himself of it. And the way Geno sounds, the way his hand is restless in Sidney’s hair and the way Sidney can already taste hints of precome at the back of his throat, tells him that Geno’s just as bad at denying himself.

He’s glad they’re not being stupid anymore, because neither of them are really good at not getting what they want.

In this moment, this is all that he really wants: Geno’s thick cock in his mouth, his hand in Sidney’s hair, and Sidney’s cock swelled and aching with need, a throb between his legs just waiting for his hand. He’s reaching there when Geno makes a noise and tugs on his hair, forcing Sidney’s watery eyes open to blink up at him, but not pulling off his cock yet. 

“Wait,” Geno says thickly. “Don’t yet. I want—let me do.”

Sidney pulls off to whine, resting his chin on Geno’s thigh and peering up at him blearily. “Geno, please.”

“Want you come on my cock,” Geno says, and Sidney has to close his eyes, bury his face in Geno’s thigh. “Get up and get supplies so I get you ready.”

“Fine,” Sidney says, like it’s a big chore, but he’s suddenly trembling with anticipation and excitement. 

It’s an awkward thing to hobble around looking for supplies, and when Sidney only comes up with lube he realizes he doesn’t have any condoms. He knows where they could get condoms, knows they’re supposed to be readily available and can’t imagine they’ve run out already like in Vancouver, but it seems like a lot of effort right now, especially with a pretty urgent boner. 

He looks at Geno hopefully and drops the lube on the bed, where Geno is now reclining and getting as comfortable as he can on the tiny bed. Sidney holds out his open, empty palms and shrugs. “No condoms. I didn’t—I honestly didn’t think I’d need them.”

He doesn’t know if he wants Geno to have condoms in his pants pocket or something—for practicality’s sake, yes, but he’s definitely relieved when Geno smiles sheepishly and shrugs back. “Me too. Sorry.”

Sidney studies Geno carefully, eyes roving over his long legs hanging off the bed, his head comically flat on the mattress because Shea took the pillows. Sidney knows and loves everything about his body, knows all the hard lines of it and knows the soft spots, the sensitive spots, the best spots to press his mouth. He knows it as well as he does his own and it’s this familiarity that has him aching right now. Geno is the comfort of all of his routines, just as necessary, and the excitement of anything new, a goal he’s never scored before. 

“Hey,” Sidney says, shifting from foot to foot a little. “If we didn’t—if we weren’t with anyone else, and we haven’t been, and we won’t be anytime soon—”

“Yes?” Geno prompts, raising an eyebrow.

“No condom?” Sidney breathes out, both hesitant and completely sure of himself. Geno lets out a harsh breath of his own, and he opens his arms and tugs Sidney back to him, putting Sidney onto his back and moving over him with wide, dark eyes.

“You sure? You want?”

“I want it a lot,” Sidney says, very firm. He rubs his hands up Geno’s arms, cups the back of his neck and meets his eyes carefully. “We should do it, it’s—I’ve never done it before.”

“Me too,” Geno says, and he kisses Sidney hard, deep and consuming. Sidney kisses back, clinging hard to Geno’s arms, spreading his palms across his back and holding him close until they’ve both lost their breath.

Geno keeps kissing him, moving from his mouth to his neck and back again, muttering in Russian like he’s distracted and captivated just by this. Sidney lets him until he feels too impatient, squirming when Geno pecks one kiss to each of his nipples, paying special attention to his left. “Need new mark,” Geno murmurs, and Sidney gasps a little but shakes his head, drawing Geno back to his mouth. 

“Later, okay? Come on, I want to do this, get the lube.”

Geno prepares him practiced ease, and Sidney relaxes around his fingers, giving himself over to the feeling of being filled again and shivering in anticipation of what’s coming next. He kisses Geno again when he pulls his fingers out, kisses him through blindly slicking his cock up with lube and lets him break away when he tries to adjust Sidney’s position.

“Be easier with pillows,” Geno grumbles, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. Sidney giggles helplessly and goes where Geno puts him. The bed is so small that they have to be on top of each other, and neither will complain about that. Sidney lets Geno bend him basically in half, his legs up Geno’s shoulders as he starts a careful slide in.

He’s breathless, then, with the feeling of Geno slick and bare inside of him, filling him as deep and wide as he usually does but so different, too. It makes his eyes go wide, his spine tingle, and Geno watches Sidney’s face as he bottoms out, rubs at his thighs as he watches Sidney adjust.

“Good?” he asks when Sidney just concentrates on breathing for a while, struck dumb. Sidney nods and takes a huge gulp of air, reaching up to rub his thumb over the back of Geno’s hand.

“Yeah. Yeah Geno it’s—ah—it’s so fucking good, God, start—you can move, please, fuck me—”  
And Geno doesn’t tease, starts fucking him with hard, short thrusts that make the mattress creak perilously under them. Sidney’s aware of where they are and aware of how quiet he needs to be but it becomes harder to stay that way the longer Geno fucks him, the more his cock drags out of Sidney and fills him deep. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt and he can’t get enough of it, moans rolling out of his chest until he has to bite his palm to keep them down.

Geno smiles down at him, rocking in harder. He keeps smiling until his eyes flutter closed and his jaw goes tight; his thrusts start to get choppy and erratic and his deep, grunted, “ _Sid_ ,” sounds like a warning and an apology.

“Fuck, do it,” Sidney says, pulling his hand away from his mouth to coax Geno’s orgasm out. “I want—ah, I want to feel it, please—”

Geno shudders and stills, and Sidney feels a flush of wet heat deep inside of him. He arches his back into it, hand flying to his cock, and it’s only another moment or two before he’s following Geno, thinking of how deep he’s feeling Geno and how much of him he has inside him now, letting that sensation tip him over.

His breath goes out of him when Geno collapses over him, slipping out while Sidney shudders and gasps. He feels another wave of pleasure crash over him when Geno’s fingers find their way to Sidney’s hole, dipping into where Sidney is wet and open. His eyes go wide and Sidney shivers against him, curling into his chest and taking deep, gulping breaths. 

“Good, Sid,” Geno says softly, pressing a gentle, lazy kiss to Sidney’s forehead. Sidney sighs and tries to return it, but gets distracted but Geno’s hand moving away, suddenly struggling with the loss. He feels his lips pucker of their own volition and Geno chuckles, kissing him on the mouth lightly. 

Eventually, he feels more of his senses return, and good sense follows. Sidney’s shivering and they’re on top of the covers. It won’t be ideal, but they can make the small bed work together, with or without pillows. Geno is his favorite pillow anyway.

As he’s gathering the wherewithal to articulate this, Geno decides it for them, squirming until they’re under the covers and Sidney’s sprawled pretty much entirely over Geno.

“Not going anywhere,” Geno says quietly, kissing the crown of Sidney’s head. “Weber can eat me.”

“Mm,” Sidney says, too tired to properly admonish him. “Good. Stay.” Sidney flings his arms around Geno, holds him tight, and snuggles in. On this side of an Olympic win and an Olympic orgasm, Sidney feels like he can handle anything, and he feels okay to fall asleep.

 

 

When Russia gets eliminated, Sidney isn’t actually expecting to hear from Geno, and therefore doesn’t panic when Geno ignores his texts. He gets it, really, gets why Geno wants that night to himself, might want the rest of his time in Russia to himself. Sidney feels pretty secure in the fact that whatever silence Geno gives him will eventually be filled with love and laughter again, once Geno’s ready for it. He’s willing to wait. 

So he’s surprised when Geno drops by at the end of the last practice Team Canada has before the Semi-final. The ice is pretty clear but for a handful of Team Canada players, messing around, and Sidney is having a drink on the bench, getting ready to take his skates off and head for the changing facility.

He recognizes the familiarity of the gesture and the kindness of it, the callback to Geno’s practice visit in Vancouver, but this time there are no cameras around that Sidney can see, no one to witness it but Shea, Kuni and Bergy, all pointedly ignoring them. 

“Hey,” he says gently as Geno sits next to him on the bench, hands shoved in the pocket of his Team Russia jacket. He looks as miserable as Sidney had imagined, and his heart aches for him, but he’s not sure what Geno wants to hear right now. So he refrains from asking something stupid like how Geno is; they’d promised that they were done being stupid, and he waits Geno out.

“Hey,” Geno says, giving him a small, feeble smile. “Came to say goodbye. Going to Moscow for rest of break.”

“You didn’t have to, I would’ve—I understand, Geno,” Sidney tells him, and Geno’s shoulders sag. 

“I know you do. Maybe not so stupid, Crosby. But I still want. Wish I could say goodbye good but—” He glances around at the practice rink and shrugs a little; he is sitting very close to Sidney, close enough to feel his warmth, and the three people on the ice know them and know what this is, and Sidney doesn’t care one bit. He shuffles closer, and Geno’s smile gets a little stronger. “Not want to just leave. I just need some time, need to—to not think about Olympics. Get my head right.”

“That’s okay,” Sidney says. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, not with something like this.”

Geno leans in, thumps his head lightly to Sidney’s helmet for a second, and then leans back. He shrugs out of his jacket and drops it over Sidney’s shoulders; Sidney can hear the soft clucks of laughter from across the ice and his face burns, but he is so ridiculously pleased he still doesn’t care. “Take this. Keep for me, and when we back home maybe I can look at it again because you have it and take good care.” 

“Yeah,” Sidney breathes out, nodding quickly. “Okay, yeah. I’ll—I’ll see you back home.”

“See you back home,” Geno says solemnly. He takes Sidney’s hand and squeezes it, and they’re both looking down at their clasped hands when a loud bang makes them both jump and spring apart.

It was unmistakably the sound of a hard slapshot hitting the boards in front of them, and both Geno and Sidney look up to glare at Shea, who is still holding his stick like he’s getting ready to wind up again. 

“That was for locking me out!” Shea shouts.


End file.
